


And all the men in cloaks trying to devour my soul

by kuropit



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), One Shot, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuropit/pseuds/kuropit
Summary: "Felix had heard of what now stood before him, the ruined king that had cheated death and become a shadow. Thieves and commonfolk spoke of him in whispers carried by the wind; a flash of blonde hair, a lone searing eye, and no one left alive. "I can assure you I'm always ready for punishment, so what will it be this time?""Felix puts Dimitri down like the animal he is.
Kudos: 5





	And all the men in cloaks trying to devour my soul

**Author's Note:**

> Me: How can I express my love for this character  
Also me: I am going to write them getting killed, obviously  
It's kinda short I just wanted to get this out of my system  
Title is from Mercy by Muse

"Another ghost from my past here to haunt me?" The voice was deep, deeper than Felix remembered it ever being. It reverberated around the damp corridor that the swordsman had once called home. It really wasn't that different, he noted, after a whole 4 years abandonment he expected the place to be ruins. But of course it wasn't abandoned, not entirely anyway, the slumped figure reminded him with its presence; long spear in its hand looming above it like a spire.  
Felix had heard of what now stood before him, the ruined king that had cheated death and become a shadow. Thieves and commonfolk spoke of him in whispers carried by the wind; a flash of blonde hair, a lone searing eye, and no one left alive.  
"I can assure you I'm always ready for punishment, so what will it be this time?"  
The weapons end dug into the ground and its length shook as it bore the weight of the creature that rose to its feet. It stood much taller than the swordsman, and had creeped forward just far enough into the light that Felix could make out one bright blue eye.  
He couldn't deny it was an intimidating sight, even experienced and jaded from battle as he was. The king - Dimitri, he reminded himself, his old comrade - had grown into a beast in his years on the run. Yet he couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto his lips.  
"Punishment?" Felix felt his light breaths become heavier as they reached the tense air around him. "I intent to end your suffering."  
If Dimitri responded to that Felix hadn't noticed, and in a flash he was charging. Running, sword in hand, at the looming monster he had once called a classmate. This boar that he'd known all his life.  
Dimitri's lance pulled around, in time to clash with Felix's blade. The corridor shook with each blow they landed on each other. Each second punctuated with the sound of metal on metal. Felix’s feet moved quickly. A brutal dance painfully reminiscent of their monastery days.  
Dimitri kept his ground; remaining planted firmly where he stood. Arms working his cruel lance with an unnatural finesse. Until a dagger hidden in Felix’s left hand buried itself just below the beast’s ribs, piercing armour, then cloth, then skin.  
Felix’s pupils blew wide as he held the dagger firmer, letting a grunt escape his throat while his adversary remained quiet. Though the pause in constant attacks from Dimtri did not go unnoticed, Felix’s realisation was dripping with dread. Could he even feel pain? Feel anything?  
Felix faltered at the thought, and then his jaw crunched under rusted armour. Sword falling forgotten from his limp fingers and crashing against stone.  
Had Dimitri ever fought dirty like this before, throwing punches in a sword fight? Felix saw a flash of red as his mind scattered, head meeting the floor with the sickening crack of bone on rock. Of course, he pieced together a thought through his blood soaked haze, this was no longer Dimitri. This wasn't even the Boar Prince. This was a Beast King.  
Pressure on his skull made his eyes focus upwards, to where the creature once a friend loomed and breathed a hiss, heavy boot now digging into Felix’s temple.  
Felix’s dagger now held nonchalantly in his hand, dripping with his own blood.  
He'd fought literal demonic beasts, but this was something else. This thing that stood over him had no semblance of life. Nothing about it was familiar, it was almost uncanny. The gaunt expression on its face didn't change once; the pale skin that seemed stretched onto its skull gave nothing away. No confidence, no fear, no emotion at all. He was looking up from the cold stone into what he could only think to describe as death itself. Felix’s hand found its way to the armoured boot pressing down on him, ripping destitutely at its relentless strength.  
“You’re not a ghost.” The words echoed above him, more a question than a statement. “You…” The voice clawed at Felix’s heart in an almost familiar way, before he could even tell himself it wasn’t who he thought it was talking.  
“No.” Felix spat, sounding as venomous as he could while half his face was pressed against stone. “I’m one of the living you left behind.” His whole body shook in another attempt to break free, but the pressure just built in his temple and he couldn’t help but let out a grunt.  
“Living…” The unmistakable sound of Areadbhar scraping across the floor screeched against the swordsman’s ears. “Left behind…” Dimitri muttered, too loud as if he’d forgotten how to do anything but growl and scream. The Prince seemed to be faltering, lost in his own mind as he contemplated his thoughts.  
“Yes,” Felix could see now. In a test of brute strength he’s no match for Dimitri, he never had been, but this Dimitri here; with its mind shattered its weakness shone through.  
“You left me. You left everyone. We thought you dead and here you were, wrapped up in your own world of make-believe and-”  
The boot made contact as fast as it had relented. Hard. Felix’s vision spun while his face skidded a few inches back, ears ringing enough that the howl above him was barely audible. But he’d known it was coming, he felt his throat rattle as he sucked in a breath as hard as he could manage, and prayed to his pain tolerance before crawling onto his feet and running toward the beast’s legs through the blood clouding his vision.  
Dimitri’s own lumbering weight betrayed him as Felix pushed into his legs full force, and the Prince met the ground with a jolt. He had to work quickly, Felix understood, but the beast seemed taken aback enough that he had a few seconds to steel himself.  
He shot out for his long-since lost sword and it weighed heavy in his hand looking down at Dimitri, face up on the floor, blue eye blown wide while his joints stirred slightly, armoured hands beginning to scrape along the stone.  
Without a second thought - or perhaps fast enough that there wasn’t a chance for one - Felix flung himself forward, blade first. It entered at the joint just under the breastplate; sliding up until his ears rang with the crack of ribs. Felix let out a breath that was more of a choked sob while he gripped the sword harder, forcing it further than he thought possible.  
Dimitri was silent.  
He felt no satisfaction. This was as simple as putting down a rabid dog. A task that needed completing, and the world was better for it now. How many times he’d dreamed of ridding his life of the boar, of finally being free from the nagging guilt of letting such a monster roam free.  
Felix let himself fall to his knees from his squat, white knuckles refusing to move from the hilt of the sword that still stood embedded between bone. He let his eyes flicker upward, toward the sorry state of a man that lay before him, still letting out pathetic, blood-filled sputters.  
And that eye, that damned eye, pierced his soul. Still blue as ever, with the final flicker of life suffocating within it.  
“There,” Felix rasped out, throat so hoarse he couldn’t recognise his own voice. “It’s done.”  
The people of Faerghus were without a king, and they were better for it.  
The heart still beating in Felix’s chest let itself be known as iron against his ribcage. A hand found its way up to Dimitri’s cheek, and soon his face was below Felix’s own. It was hard to tell if there were any life left, his skin deathly pallor even in life, though the tell-tale rattle in the ruined chest below him seemed to be an answer.  
“Dimitri.”  
It was more a statement than anything. Felix pulled back and swung a leg over the torso laid out before him and again took hold of the hilt of the lodged sword with an icy grip.  
A sound came from Dimitri’s throat. One indescribable and attached to no known emotion.  
And then Felix twists his arms.  
Dimitri chokes; blood once stuck in his throat crashing out his mouth, a gruesome fountain. Stained lips shaking as if trying to speak, but it’s too late for that now. Too late for any goodbyes or apologies. He was finally laying helpless and silent like the animal he was.  
The arms that laid beside him rose up cautiously, placing an uncharacteristic feather-light touch against Felix’s hands that juxtaposed the heavy gauntlets adorning them, and they stayed there despite the shaking that consumed his entire body.  
A few more chokes clawed their way out of the beast’s throat as the writhes of death took him. Felix found himself lost in the sight, vision still hazy from blood and tears, but transfixed on the beaten lips of his Prince as he could have sworn they were weakly stumbling over the sharp sound of an “F” as final breathes parted. And then silence washed over the monastery like a thick fog, smothering the swordsman until he could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears.  
Shaking fingers eventually pulled the sword from the blonde’s chest, the Prince’s determined hands finally slumping and a guttural wet crunch resonated against the walls, followed by the clanging of steel slightly muted by moss as the blade was dropped wherever it fell.  
Felix’s boots slid against the ground as he hauled himself up, heavy with more than just his body. It was only one step before he tumbled, elbows crashing against brick as he heaved up bile helplessly. He allowed himself to feel, to ride through his emotions. Each convulsion in his back pulled out a sob from his throat and the stinging of acid ripped its way through his esophagus  
He dared steal a glance at the body beside him. When Glenn has died he looked asleep, he’d seen him there - on the field in Duscur - with his eyes closed and hair framing his peaceful expression, but Dimitri never slept well. The stillness of his body now made Felix’s stomach reel, and vomit clawed at his throat again.  
After a few moments under the weight of the air, Felix spat, crawling to the wall and pulling himself up against it. His forehead pressed against the cool stone offering little relief.  
He found himself almost wanting to say goodbye, but the dead were nothing, he reminded himself.

It would be another year before the pile of rusted black armour adorned with the furs of his homeland were discovered by a fair-haired professor, stumbling on new legs back into their own memories. The corpse lay still, forgotten and untouched where it fell, life around the ruins forsaking it, taking it into its own bitter survival.  
And Byleth wept.

**Author's Note:**

> name a more iconic duo than fraldardyd and angst, i'll wait


End file.
